


Such Dark Little Promises

by humannature_archivist



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-11
Updated: 2009-10-11
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humannature_archivist/pseuds/humannature_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Told you, opening night is the eleventh, not the seventh," he says in a velvety, soft, Scottish accent. "It's not my fault you got the dates mixed up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Dark Little Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Human Nature](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Human_Nature). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Human Nature collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/humannature/profile).
> 
> * * *
> 
> Obviously, this is a work of complete and utter fiction.
> 
> Oh, and I've used a quote from 'Dirty Dancing' in this – but other than that, everything belongs to me. Well, except for David and Billie, of course. I just borrowed them. :)

They're sitting next to each other at the edge of the stage, legs hanging down, and they're chatting and joking as they drink champagne out of paper cups.  
  
The rehearsal finished over an hour ago and the cast have all gone home. The theatre's empty, except for them.   
  
David teases her again about what she's wearing – a little red silk dress and a pair of red, crystal-strewn, Alexander McQueen shoes.  
  
She pushes him playfully. " _You_ said it was opening night," she laughs. "I wouldn't have gone to this much trouble if I'd known it was just a rehearsal."   
  
"Told you, opening night is the eleventh, not the seventh," he says in a velvety, soft, Scottish accent. "It's not my fault you got the dates mixed up."  
  
Billie pushes a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear and looks at him squarely. "I looked like a complete idiot turning up dressed like this when you lot were in jeans and t-shirts."  
  
He smiles because he can't help it. "You did not." And then, because he still can't help it, he lets his eyes skim over her body and down those long legs. "Well... except for those shoes. They're a bit 'Wizard of Oz', aren't they?"  
  
Without answering, Billie stretches her legs out in front of her, turning her feet and pointing her toes to admire the way the crystals on the shoes glint under the stage lights.   
  
"I don't think Dorothy could afford these," she says and throws him a smile, like she knows a secret.  
  
"How much?" he asks idly, as he lifts his paper cup to take another drink.  
  
She tells him, and he splutters champagne as she laughs.  
  
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and coughs. "For _shoes_?"   
  
She leans in close, so close he can smell her perfume. It's sweet, like vanilla and oranges. She gives a slow as molasses smile and her hand comes to rest on his thigh, fingertips stroking the dark blue denim of his jeans.  
  
"I'd better not tell you how much I paid for my underwear." She licks her lips and sees him swallow. "It's Agent Provocateur," she whispers, and for a second her tongue flicks to the corner of her mouth as she smiles.  
  
His mouth is suddenly dry and he doesn't know what to say, so he checks his watch in an effort to appear casual and relaxed – which he's not. He's surprised when he sees the time, and he looks out to the empty theatre, only just realising that they're alone.  
  
"Where the hell is everyone?"  
  
"Gone," Billie informs him, and removes her hand from his leg.  
  
"They can't have _all gone_ ," David reasons, but he doesn't sound convinced. He gets to his feet but Billie remains where she is. "I'll go see if I can find someone – Dan's probably still back stage, he'll..."  
  
Uninterested, Billie reaches for her paper cup and pours out a little more champagne. "Dan took Erica home," she informs him.  
  
"What?" His brow furrows in concern. "Why?"  
  
Billie looks at him like he's a prize idiot. "Why does any bloke volunteer to take a woman home, even if it means driving ten miles out of his way?" She waits for him to answer her, but he says nothing, he just stands there looking baffled. She sighs, tilts her head a little and decides to tell him the answer to her not-riddle. "Because he wants to sleep with her."  
  
"That's..." He flounders, blindsided by female logic. He frowns and for reasons he can't quiet explain he tries to come up with something brilliant to blow her theory out of the water. "I've given you a lift home dozens of times."  
  
Billie sips her champagne from her paper cup and looks at him from under heavy black lashes, but she says nothing.  
  
David's right hand moves to the back of his neck, long fingers rubbing away tension before it has a chance to take hold. He's un-nerved and he doesn't know why. Or maybe he does. Maybe that's the problem. He lets his hand fall away when he realises his body language is giving away too much.  
  
"I'll go and check backstage. There's bound to be someone about." He hesitates. "Will you be okay here?"  
  
She gives him an odd look. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Right." He nods his head. "Yeah, of course." He nods his head again then darts off through the black curtains that are at the back of the stage.  
  
While he's gone, Billie contemplates the red lipstick mark on her paper cup as if it's an entry for the Turner Prize. Glancing away she lets out a long breath and taps her fingernails on the stage floor as she considers if she really knows what she's doing.   
  
She can't help but think that she isn't herself tonight – or maybe she's too much herself. She knows that she's being reckless, maybe even stupid, but it sort of feels unavoidable. It's like she has an itch under her skin and there's only one way to make it stop.  
  
She drains the last of her champagne from her cup and gets to her feet decisively. The sound of her heels on the polished wooden floor echo through the theatre as she walks toward centre stage, where a large, imposing, wrought iron bed stands. In a few days the stage will be made up to look like a sumptuous bedroom, but tonight, for the rehearsal, it's just a big old bed covered with crisp white sheets and feather pillows.  
  
There's a script that's been left lying on the floor and she bends down and picks it up, flicking through it to the scene that interests her most.   
  
A few minutes later, when David returns to the stage, Billie drops the script onto the bed and watches him closely as he walks toward her.  
  
"There's no one. The place is shut up tight and we're locked in." He sounds exasperated. "Even the bloody office is shut, so I can't get to the phone. And I've left my mobile in my car." Suddenly he looks apologetic, as if this is all his fault. "I'm so sorry."   
  
She smiles, reaches out a hand and plays with his hair. "S'okay."  
  
"It's not okay. We're stuck here until the cleaners come in tomorrow morning."  
  
Her hand falls back to her side. "I'm just..." she stops and sighs, frustrated. She takes a breath and begins again. "This is not a tragedy. A tragedy is three men trapped in a mine, or police dogs used in Birmingham."  
  
There's a moment of silence, and then David's face softens, amusement lighting his eyes. "Monks burning themselves in protest." He grins broadly.  
  
And because she can't stop herself, Billie leans in and kisses him.   
  
Her lips taste of champagne, but she's not drunk. Her hands are in his hair and her body is pressed up close against his. She's in control and she knows exactly what she's doing.  
  
He's so surprised by the kiss that it takes him a second to realise that she's not playing, and another second to realise that his hands are already pulling her closer, his body responding to her before he can think to stop it. Except, he doesn't stop it.  
  
Before he even knows it, his hand is cupping her breast and he can feel her nipple harden under the silk of her dress as his thumb rubs against it, coaxing it to life.  
  
His other hand is on her thigh, stroking against warm skin, then moving higher, slipping under the hem of her red dress. His long fingers trace against the top of her stocking as sanity begins to slip away.  
  
She kisses his throat and he feels her warm breath on his skin. Her soft lips press against the stubble on his jaw, and at his ear she whispers such dark little promises.   
  
He feels her fingers slip under his t-shirt, and he groans as her fingernails graze against his skin.  
  
He can't help but remember the countless sleepless nights he's spent imagining making love to her; nights when her name had been the last thing to fall from his lips before he stroked himself to completion in his bed.   
  
He swears softly as Billie undoes the button of his jeans and begins to slowly drag down his zip. Fantasy and reality are blurring in his head and he's not sure what's real any more.  
  
His eyes open and he stares at the stage lighting, high above them.   
  
Billie's knuckles brush against the growing urgency of his erection. He can feel how hard his cock is, how ready. He can't think of anything but how much he wants to fuck her. And that's his wake up call.   
  
His fingers wrap around her wrist so tightly that he knows there'll be bruising there in the morning, but he can't bring himself to care. He pushes her away, holding her at arms length.  
  
"Stop it!" he snaps, and his body is tense and his breath is quick. She looks at him with doe eyes and he shakes his head. "Just... stop it, Bill. It's not funny."   
  
He tries not to be angry with her. He knows he's as much to blame as she is, maybe more. He shouldn't have let this happen.  
  
"I'm sorry, Bill, I..." He relaxes his grip on her wrist.  
  
She looks up at him and blinks, and when she does, the bambi-soft look is gone, and she's angry, or maybe she's hurt. She hides the emotion away so quickly that he's not sure.  
  
With a sharp tug she pulls her wrist free of his hold and stumbles back on those ridiculous heels. "Fuck you."  
  
He raises an eyebrow. He's trying to be a gentleman and that's the thanks he gets?  
  
She steps backward and ends up sitting on the edge of the bed. He watches her reach down and pull off her shoes.  
  
He rakes his hands through his hair. "Billie..."  
  
She takes aim and throws a shoe in his direction. He sidesteps not a second too soon and the shoe thuds against the wall behind him.  
  
"What the...?" A second shoe hurtles toward him and he ducks out the way. "Bill!"   
  
He moves forward quickly, grabs both her arms at the wrists and pushes her back onto the bed as his anger gets the better of him.   
  
In a moment he's above her, straddling her on the bed, and she's pinned beneath him. They're both breathing far too heavily.  
  
Smarting with wounded pride, Billie stares into the depths of David's brown eyes. Fire burns through her blood and angry, brazen words fall from her lips. "How many times do I have to throw myself at you before you fucking take the hint?"  
  
For a second he stops breathing, letting her words sink in. His eyes darken as he looks at her. She's beautiful and wanton under him, and god knows it's not like he hasn't dreamed of making love to her.   
  
She shifts restlessly under him, and at once he's reminded just how much his body still craves her. She's warm and sweet and inviting and he doesn't even know why he's fighting this any more.  
  
Everything is suddenly so simple; blindingly, stupidly, simple. He leans in close, brushes a slow kiss to her jaw, her cheek. He pulls back slowly and looks into her wide eyes.  
  
"Just once more – I promise."  
  
She stares back at him and sees how dark his eyes have become. She can't help but smile when she realises that suddenly, wonderfully, amazingly, they're not playing games any more. This – whatever this is – is finally real.  
  
"Kiss me."  
  
Slowly, like a predator, he moves closer. His lips hover a breath away from hers, but he does not kiss her. Instead he waits, breathes in her perfumed skin and imagines that he can hear the race of her heart. He wants to remember this moment always.  
  
Trying to free her wrists from his hold, Billie struggles a little beneath him. She wants so much to touch him that she thinks she'll die if he continues to torment her. It doesn't take her long to realise that it's useless – she knows that he'll only let her go when he's ready to. And so she stills under him and hopes that he will show mercy.  
  
"David... _please_..."  
  
His lips touch hers and he steals away her words with a kiss.  
  
There is no hesitation now, no uncertainty. There is only want and need and longing.   
  
He releases his hold on Billie's wrists and his hands move to her body as she draws him into her arms. He cups the side of her face as he kisses her, his thumb brushing across her cheek. His other hand explores the fullness of her breast and the curve of her hip. His hand moves lower, stroking across the red silk that covers her thigh, then lower still. He pushes the hem of her dress up and his fingers softly caress the heated skin of her inner thigh.  
  
Billie gasps and breaks the kiss. Everything is moving so quickly, yet neither feels the need to stop it. And soon enough they are skin against skin. Their clothes are no more than a heap of designer names abandoned on the stage floor, topped off with a vintage 'Abercrombie and Fitch' t-shirt.  
  
David lowers his head to Billie's breast and takes one dark nipple into his mouth. His teeth and tongue play and torment her there until she writhes and gasps. His fingers find their way inside her, stroking her slow and steady as she sobs and pleads his name.  
  
He moves his body to rest between her open legs and stares at her as he pushes his cock into her. He only closes his eyes when the bliss of being held so tight washes over him.   
  
Billie presses kisses to his mouth, his jaw and his throat. She rakes her fingernails down his back as she arches under him. She tells him how many times she's imagined this moment, how many ways she's imagined it. And each confession that she whispers only makes him harder.   
  
He moves into a rhythm, slow at first, then fast and deep. His hand slips between their bodies and his fingers begin to stroke her clit. He rubs precise and maddening little circles against her. He does not stop; his fingers only quicken their work. He rubs against her clit again, and again, and again until Billie gasps under him and meets his force with pleading words.  
  
"Don't stop. Oh, god, please. David, please, don't stop. Don't..."  
  
With a cry, she arches up into the play of his hand, and he watches her come. It pushes him over the edge and he cries out her name as his own orgasm rips through him, fierce and uncontrolled.  
  
He rolls onto his back, drawing Billie to lie close against him as they try to catch their breath. They smile stupid, happy smiles at each other and press soft kisses to warm skin. And even as they try not to, they fall asleep.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
David is sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his shoes while Billie collects her bag from the front of the stage. When she walks back to the bed he looks up, and because he feels that he can, he takes the slow route; from her sparkly, red shoes, over her silk dress, all the way up to her shy smile.  
  
He hadn't been sure what to expect now that they had shifted the goal posts, but _shy_ hadn't been on the list. He can't help but frown. "Are you okay?"  
  
Billie nods her head. "Yeah," she assures him. "It's just..." She stops, reaches into her bag and removes a set of keys, handing them to David.  
  
He looks at the keys in his hand, and then to her. "Bill, these are..."  
  
"They're the theatre keys. Dan gave them to me when he took Erica home. He didn't want us to get locked in."  
  
"You've had them all this time?" It's a stupid question and he already knows the answer, but he asks it anyway.  
  
She holds his gaze. "I'm not sorry."  
  
David's eyes grow dark. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks at Billie. She takes a step away but he catches her hand and pulls her back to him.  
  
"Neither am I." He stands and gently cups her face with one hand as he looks at her. "I was thinking... can I give you a lift home?"  
  
She can't help but smile. "I live out of your way," she reminds him.  
  
"Oh, yes," he says with a knowing grin. "Yes, you do – at least ten miles."  
  
She smiles a happy smile, and because she can't help it, she puts her arms around David's neck and kisses him.

 


End file.
